Night Terror

              Richelle Swanson lay stretched across her couch, a bowl of cheetos sat on her stomach. She rested her head on the couch’s cushioned arm, reading one of her many Stephen King. She sat up, placing the cheetos and book on her coffee table. She stretched and checked her watch, midnight. Richelle picked up the cheetos and carried them to the kitchen.
         The lights in her apartment flickered and buzzed. She froze,  and waited for them to steady. Her apartment suddenly filled with darkness.
         “Well damn it,” Richelle whispered. She crouched down and dug through the cabinets for her flashlight, to no avail.
         A sharp knock at the door made her bolt upright. She stood in the darkness, silent.
         “Miss Swanson? Are you there?”
         Richelle breathed a sigh of relief. It was Porter, the apartment complex security guard.
         “Oh, Porter. Yes I’m here.”
         “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were alright after the power went out.”
         “Well, that’s very sweet Porter. I’m fine. I was just…wait a minute. Porter, it’s midnight. How did you even know I was up?”
         “I know you like to read late. When a walk around at night your light is always on.”
         “How do you know I’m reading?”
         “You come home every week with a new book, remember last week. I ran into you and…”
         Richelle waited for him to finish.
         “Porter?” She called. No response. She walked to the door and peered out the peephole. The silhouette of a man gently swayed. The darkness forbade her from seeing clearly, but she could tell his head was dropped.
         “Porter?” The figure was tossed aside, replaced by a larger shadow. It took a step closer to the door. Richelle wanted to scream, wanted to run, but she stood frozen, looking out the door.
         The new figure raised a large blade, so Richelle could clearly see its shine, and brought it towards the door. Richelle snapped her head away from the door just as the blade passed through the peephole. No glass or wood fell, like it hadn’t even existed.
         Richelle realized she was not staring at the blade of a knife, but a long, thin claw. It stretched a foot in length, stopping an inch from her face.
         She gasped and backed away. The claw withdrew. Richelle waited for her door to break down, but everything stood quiet.
         “Pl-please go away.”
         No response. Richelle hurried to her room and reached for the phone, it was dead. She slammed the phone on its receiver.
         “Damn it.”
         She put her hand on her forehead and turned. A dark shape stood outside her window, silhouetted behind her drapes.
         “Leave me alone. Please leave me alone!”
         The shape tilted its head and raised a clawed hand toward the window. Richelle screamed and ran from the room. She rushed to the kitchen and pulled open a drawer. With shaking hands she searched through it, and pulled a large cutting knife from its pocket. Tears and sweat covered her face.
         Richelle walked slowly around the corner, staring wide eyed into her dark bedroom. She waited for the sound of her window being opened or broken. Somehow the silence seemed more terrifying.
         She tip toed to the couch and moved her hand around the surface of the coffee table. She felt her cell phone brush against her hand and snatched it. Flipping open the phone, she dialed 911. A loud screeching sound escaped the phone, Richelle dropped it.
         Suddenly she heard a rattling above her head. She looked up. Blue eyes stared down at her from the dark air vent. She covered her mouth and backed away. A large talon broke through the vent, the cover crashing to the floor.
         Richelle gasped at the terrifying creature standing before her. His skin was paled, his whole body covered in scars. His face lacked  a nose and mouth, the only feature on his face was his blue eyes, which were both mesmerizing and frightening.
         It reached towards her, his dagger like nail, covered in Porter’s blood drew closer to her face. The blood’s sweet, iron smell filled Richelle’s nose, making her gag. Richelle felt the prick of the cold nail on her cheek…

         Richelle’s head shot up from the couch cushion. Her book rested on her stomach, the bowl of cheetos spilled on the floor beside her. Richelle swung her legs off the couch, cheetos crunched under her feet. She looked up at the bright ceiling light. She laid her forehead in her hands.
         “A dream,” she breathed. “Oh my god, it was just a dream.”
         The lights in her apartment flickered and buzzed. She lifted her head, and waited, prayed that they would steady. Her apartment suddenly filled with darkness.
         Richelle looked towards the door. She rested her hands on her knees, her nails digging into her skin. She held her breath.
         There was a sharp knock at the door. Richelle sighed and dropped her head.
         “Miss Swanson? Are you there?”
         Porter… the apartment complex security guard.